


Too tired to be tough

by dontrefertome (idkimtired)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Also tw : ed, Famous Louis Tomlinson, Football | Soccer Player Louis Tomlinson, I'm Bad At Tagging, Like Very Bad, Louis Tomlinson-centric, M/M, Model Zayn Malik, OT5, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Singer Harry, Slow Burn, Tw: suicide mentions and sort of attempts, and deals with a lot of shit, author is not stable so neither is updating:), give me a chance, kinda famous Harry, liam is Louis... manager? agent? thing, no editing we die like the hope of a reunion, recovery healing all that good shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:48:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkimtired/pseuds/dontrefertome
Summary: The Tommo’s’ Latest Scandal; Insider Information and All The Newest GossipTommo Spotted in London?‘Tommo’ Tomlinson ; All You Need To Know About England’s New Football HopeLouis Tomlinson Astounds Once More - A Legend In The Making?Why We Think That Tommo Is The Hottest Footballer Out There (If It’s Not Already Obvious)Every Model Tommo Has Been Seen With This MonthLouis ‘Tommo’ Tomlinson Donates Thousands To LGBTQ+ CharityDoes Tommo Have a Secret Girlfriend? (Or Boyfriend?!)Top 50 Reasons Tommo Is England’s New Rising Footie StarLouis Tomlinson has it all, fame, success, riches, the whole chabang- until he crashes down and breaks apart in front of the world and its prying news articles.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) - thanks for taking a chance on this, uh it is mostly unedited and completely unbetad... I do not know how to spell that, anywayssss if anyone wants the job it’s open lol.  
> It is also the middle of the night so, uh, yeah sorry I don’t really know what to say - I hope you enjoy! slight warning, h doesn’t turn up for a small while  
> Also please check the tw in the tags and don’t read if that’s a thing for you

_ Just one interview, in and out, quick and easy, I promise. Just charm them all away as usual, yeah Tommo? I’ll sort out the rest.  _ Liam’s words flash through Louis' head at the warning sign of his interviewer's uneasy smile. She looks uncomfortable but not enough to hide her eagerness. He lets her take the time to formulate how she wants to ask her question, narrowed, careful eyes watching him from across the couch a sure sign that she knows what she’s doing. She has to be careful, not to push too much which would give him full rights to turn her down for being rude and yet outright enough that he has to answer instead of having the leeway to avoid.

It had been going fine - for a full minute it had been going fine, just the usual banter and flirting he's used to, is very good at actually, - but they both know the real reason he’s here at all. It’s not like he isn’t expecting it, hasn’t been prepped for the exact question she’s wondering how to ask since the minute Coach decided he would be allowed to continue the rest of the season. 

He knows his answering smile isn’t as convincing as the ones beforehand but it must still have some warmth and charm to it because she - Laura … right? Yes, Laura - relaxes a little and clears her throat.

“So, Tommo, I’m sure you know why we were so happy to hear from you here today,” - because looking for a good story to sell? - “it’s been, well, it’s been an eventful week for you, no? Your fans are all very worried after your trip to the hospital last week - our source said it was for… five days? But honestly, if you don’t mind me saying so, you look in great form here today.” - Louis winks and she fumbles for a second, blushing, - “So. Are you alright? Will this in any way impact your playing?” Out in the open, blunt and exactly to the point, the studios quiet, the hungry greed of curiosity gleaming in each of the eyes watching him.  _ Just dance around it a bit Tommo, fuck if you’re good at that - tell them it was allergies for all I care. I am - for the first  _ _ and only  _ _ time - telling you to just lie, alright? I can get ‘proof’ if we need it. _

“Well, let’s start with the most important, yeah? You’ve got a lotta questions there, love. No - this won’t have an impact on my game, I can be 100% sure of that, so the fans - love you all- don’t need to worry.” Laura’s smile becomes less forced and she visibly relaxes, even though her disappointment at the lack of drama is clear. Still, he knows he can’t get away with a five day hospital visit and no explanation while seeming in perfect playing condition. He’s right. He’s hesitating on what to say next when she jumps in.

“Well that sure is a big relief - for us, not our opponents!” - they both force polite laughs - “But I can’t say I'm completely reassured honestly, I hope it’s not anything serious? To merit  _ five  _ days? Nothing… long term surely?” He can feel a hush spread through the cameras and across the country - across Europe even - to all of the waiting viewers. Waiting for weakness. He shakes his head.

“No, no, nothing like that, thank god,” he says and he’s sure he’s not imagining the disappointment - what a story! - across the small studio. Laura frowns, carefully, politely confused, as if to say  _ what then?  _ But she’s too smart to start a direct attack so early. For the first time in a long long while, Louis can feel the pressure of the cameras and eyes all on him, hoping for a slip up. For the first time maybe ever he wishes they would just leave him alone. Quick and easy, my arse, he thinks irritably, glancing over at a frowning Liam, watching from behind the cameras. In the slight pause that follows, Laura leans forward to look at him directly, thirst for the full story clear across the lines of her face and disappointment that he’s not playing her game hidden in the small furrow above her brow. Fuck this. Until he continues.

“It’s actually something I’ve been struggling with for a long time.” Liam begins to frantically shake his head in the corner of Louis' eyes but he just turns his head away to ignore him easier and Laura’s eyes light up eagerly - he can almost see  _ Big News _ written across them. She’s new, he knows, young, this story could make or break her career. All she’s hoping for is a juicy scandal. 

“Oh?” she asks, as if scared she might ruin it and scare him off from saying something. Louis still has the time to lie, make up something stupid about allergies like Liam said. “... but nothing serious, I hope?” she finishes with slightly less confidence when he doesn’t reply. He slowly, slowly, slowly, shakes his head.

“Nothing physical,” he says and her eyes go very wide. Liam buries his head in his hands. “As for serious…” he can still lie. He can still lie. He can still lie. He’s so sick of this. He hides his hands, squeezing the trembling fingers viciously into his palms. “Well, it’s not great that’s for sure.”

He can’t be doing this. Why is he doing this? He should stop.

“I I see, uh, what, can you-”

“Depression, love.” It is way, way too late to stop now. He hopes his sisters aren’t watching. Shit, he hopes his mum isn’t watching. “I was diagnosed with a form of depression and some anxiety as well after having a bit of a … breakdown of sorts on Monday that landed me in hospital.” He doesn’t mention the weird childhood ptsd thing. Silence. He thinks Liam might be crying from sheer frustration, banging his clipboard against his forehead. Laura is openly gaping at him, clearly at loss at how to respond. He feels a small twang of annoyance and satisfaction at how shocked they all seem, soon replaced by a tired numbness that’s been floating around him since that hospital office conversation. 

“I, oh. That’s, that's tough,” she stammers. He shrugs.  _ What else is there to say? _ “Um, and well, a bit of a shock if I’m honest,” she glances half desperate to the side but, while there are a lot of people whispering and waving waves and panicking, no one seems to know what to do or have any help to offer her in her rapidly derailing interview. “Is it as much of a surprise for you? I mean no one would have guessed! Uh, how, how are you dealing? I hope you're in a better state than Monday anyway?” His answering laugh is strained. He’s dug himself a hole now. Fuck, trust him. Liam is waving frantically from the side. 

“Can’t say it was that much of a surprise, no. It’s been leading up to this for a while now if I’m honest. I- ” what is he doing? He swallows with difficulty and looks down at his bunched fingers, carefully begins to attempt to untangle them. 

“Yes?” Her voice is surprisingly soft. 

“Well, seems a bit … stupid almost, yeah? Selfish even. I mean, I have a brilliant career, a brilliant team and the best fans but…” but what? What is wrong with Louis Tomlinson? Why doesn’t his head just work right? Why couldn’t he just follow the goddamn plan? “I guess I just never felt right, you know? Like, in my skin but, but also in my head. Can’t really explain it. But then… then I became ‘ _ the new rising star of football’,  _ just like all of a sudden really. And i was, I was  _ really _ young honestly - still am I guess haha - but it was, it was all this  _ pressure _ on my shoulders but also … also this fame and spotlight. Like all these eyes on me and news articles and strangers knowing my name and that was… that was a lot. Before, I mean this was before I really even knew who I was, who I am, yet, not that, not that was something I really realized at the time. I mean, at that age we all think we know it all, huh? And at first, like the very beginning, I was just doing everything to be, to be  _ enough _ for all of that but I didn’t… I didn’t really  _ feel _ it. Like all this money and success and everything was supposed to make me finally happy right? And one, one day I just woke up and realised that I had all that but it didn’t, I still, still felt  _ off _ and just something was missing so I just, I told myself that it just wasn’t enough, I just needed to be better, more, the best. Once I was on top, i told myself I would finally find my place, yeah? But, well you’ll realize, the spotlights a pretty lonely place to be. And… for everyone who loved me? There’s only so many times you can try reach out to someone who’s doing their best to push everyone away.” 

Stunned, Laura opens and closes her mouth a few times. Louis feels surprisingly calm, normal. 

“I - so, just to get this right, - this has been, you’ve felt like this since the beginning of your career?”

“I’d say I haven’t really felt ok since I was twelve years old but yeah, I don’t think all that attention helped.” Why did he say that? Why -  _ why _ did he feel the need to say that on  _ national tv? _

“Twelve?” she squeaks. Poor Laura looks like she can’t decide if this is the worst moment of her rising career - Louis ‘Tommo’ Tomlinson has admitted, without warning, to be suffering from depression on air and she is dramatically unprepared in how to answer - or the best - What. A. Story. Shit. Well, he really just went with the truth there huh, just… yup. Things  _ did _ go downhill from thirteen but, maybe, he shouldn’t have said that live to the entire UK. He glances at Liam. Shit. Definitely shouldn’t have. He’s gradually losing his nerve once more and nods rapidly in answer. “Right,” she says faintly, “And, what about now? How are you doing since Monday?” Oh. Ok, that was unexpected. Well.

“Er… yeah, I’m doing ok actually, great support from everyone around me.” There’s only so much raw truth you can dump into one interview. Behind the cameras, Liam is jumping up and down, waving a clipboard with  FOOTBALL written and repeatedly underlined across it. Laura takes his advice with seeming relief, glancing over and quickly clearing her throat. 

“And uh, well that’s great, and but has it not been damaging for the overall team moral? That their captain is struggling from um a a mental illness?”

“I’m still playing to win,” Louis reassures her immediately and she sits up straighter in surprise at the strength in his tone.  _ I’m finally playing to win.  _ “We’re all, all the lads, we’ve got our eyes on the final and I know we can get there, I know we  _ are  _ going to get there. I’m going to win with my entire team beside me and I think we can all feel it. I… I’ve let them down, more than any of them deserve, to be completely honest and I’m going to do my best to fix that.” She’s looking confused and a little like she wants to interrupt but he barrels on, not giving her the chance. “I’m going to give my everything and i know that’s true of all of the lads. This, this isn’t going to - hasn’t - change anything. However…” he steels himself for the blow of what he’s about to say, “I - once this season is over - it’s become pretty clear that I need some time to myself to sort out my head a little, yeah? So, I’m afraid that after the final, I won’t be coming back to Donny next year.”

…

There.

Done.

Said.

…

He suddenly doesn’t want to be in this interview anymore, can’t imagine sitting still on the ugly little couch for another second. Doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of what he’s thrown at it. So, for the second? third? time this interview, Louis says fuck it and breaks every rule he’s ever been told by his pr team (Liam). 

“Well, thanks Laura,” he’s standing before his brain has the chance to think this out, a forced smile fixed on as he kisses her cheek and walks out.

There. Over. At last. Pandemonium around him but he focuses on taking a shaky breath, pretty sure he’s trembling as he leans forward, bracing himself against a wall. It’s been thirty seconds and his phone is already ringing.  _ Mum _ flashes across the screen when he checks it and he hands it, still ringing, over to the person nearest to him and starts walking, blindly pushing through to get out of the suddenly suffocating room. They splutter something he ignores and hurry to follow after him, phone still ringing on in their hands. Actually, everyone seems to be trying to reach him, from the confused talk show team to Liam who, he’s pretty sure is shouting as he jogs after him. Fuck all of this.

He bursts into the narrow corridor and is stopped by half of the team,  _ his  _ team, crammed into the small space to wait for him. They stare with shocked expressions, phones out and the fact that they heard every word written clear across each face and no one says a thing. He raises his chin and shoulders past.

He’s outside, actually outside in the cold morning air,  _ so close _ to making it away, when Liam catches up with him, Louis' phone clutched tightly in his hand. 

“Tommo.”

“No.”

“To-“

“Don’t know anyone called-“

“Fuck -  _ Tomlinson! _ ” Liam interrupts and god it’s rare that he gets actually angry from Louis antiques. “What was that? No - look at me, stop and look at me.  _ What - the fuck- was that? _ ” 

And Louis just… stops, stops in the cold on a cloudy, grim Sunday morning in the middle of a depressing concrete car park and he’s pretty sure something small but very important deep inside of him breaks. 

“I don’t know.” It’s barely a whisper, his throat closing around the confession. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how he got here, to this point, he doesn’t know how he  _ let himself  _ get here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. Liam is the only person in the world allowed to see this Louis, so Liam is left without answers, holding him tightly and letting him sob into his aggressively ironed shirt while Louis tries to stop himself from shattering.

  
  


**before**

“Tommo!”

“Tommo, over here!”

Flask, flash, flash, click, click, click.

“Tommo! Comment on your new tattoo?”

Flash, click.

“Do you think you can win on Saturday?”

“Tommo! We’ve heard you’ve spent a lot of time with rising movie star-“

“Is she your girlfriend?!” 

“Are you ready to settle down?”

He grins at the last question and winks - “Wouldn’t you like that?”

A sea of camera and microphones, an ocean of eager - desperate - hands and faces swarms in front of him. For him. To talk to him - greedy for anything he gives them, pushing forward in a jolting, fierce competition to be the one he grace with or word, a smile, a mass of reporters almost sick with anticipation and excitement and questions. The rising crescendo of questions reaching a deafening roar at his response.  _ Talk to me _ implores each face with each shout of “ _ Tommo!”  _ He bathes in it, their crazed, eager eyes and open worship, the articles they’ll write, the footage they’ll play and replay. Behind him, Liam takes his elbow to steer him in the right direction. 

“Talk to two or three, then we move on,” he slides into Louis ear before dropping his arm and taking a step back. Journalists pressin from every side and Louis grins widely at them all.

“We’ve heard rumors about-“

“Tommo! Over here!”

“How confident are you feeling for next week?”

“Favorite teammate?”

“How do you feel about-?”

“Tommo!” “Tommo!” “Tommo!”

“You,” he says and the girl in question's eyes go very wide as she trips over herself to question him. He grins even wider. They are all here for him, to here him talk, all of them just for him. Flash, flash, flash. Click, click, click.

He is loved,  _ adored. _

_ ‘The Tommo’s’ Latest Scandal; Insider Information and All The Newest Gossip _

_ Tommo Spotted in London? _

_ ‘Tommo’ Tomlinson ; All You Need To Know About England’s New Football Hope _

_ Louis Tomlinson Astounds Once More - A Legend In The Making? _

_ Why We Think That Tommo Is The Hottest Footballer Out There (If It’s Not Already Obvious) _

_ Every Model Tommo Has Been Seen With This Month _

_ Louis ‘Tommo’ Tomlinson Donates Thousands To LGBTQ+ Charity _

_ Does Tommo Have a Secret Girlfriend? (Or Boyfriend?!) _

_ Top 50 Reasons Tommo Is England’s New Rising Footie Star _

_ Exclusive Interview With The Tommo - Fame, Success, Sexuality and, of course, Footie! _

His new car is too big for one person and he’s not sure why he thought it was a good idea when the massive seats and all this space only make it very clear that he’s alone. He’s taking the Ferrari next time. But he does like how much space it takes up on the road and how it puts him higher up than everyone else and the sound systems good so he rolls the windows down and blasts music obnoxiously loud until it fills up all the empty space and throbs a beat into his ears, pounding it into his head. When he stops at the red lights, a young boy on the sidewalk gapes openly at him and tugs on his mother’s sleeve to point him out. Louis offers them both a small grin, wincing slightly against the sun's brightness searing a spot through his weak, hungover eyes, wishing he wasn’t sober enough to feel the glaring pain. The boys near hysteric jumping and shouting in response is worth it though and he feels his smile widen into something more genuine.

He is loved, loved, loved.

Being too sober is rarely a problem. Not when everyone who’s anyone is always so eager to invite him over and tripping over their feet to be invited back in return, not when alcohol always flows freely and loosely around the rich and famous and beautiful, not when it’s well known that your party can’t be considered  _ great _ without him, the life of any party, not when people at these parties are always pressing a glass or a pill into his hands and the music is good enough, loud enough, to get drunk enough on it just by twirling in the middle of the dance floor, bathed in flashing lights. Empty space is nearly never a problem either. Not when there isn’t any between girls in short dresses and boys in expensive shoes and him, not when they run their hands over his skin and their lips bury into it as he tilts his head back and lets them press closer, lets their fingers weave into his hair and grins lazily back at them - no, here there is rarely any space around him at all, eager, hungry hands always willing to take and take and take and there is never any in his bed.

He is loved. He is  _ adored _ .

The coaches talk directly to him when they face off other teams.

“Pass to Tommo, let him do what he does best,” they say afterwards and he doesn’t miss the looks on his teammates' faces. Jealousy, raw and open, done bothering to hide it in the way they talk to him, or rather don’t, anymore but they’ll listen because they know it’s true - he’s the best. He’s going to win for them. Their bitter jealousy is right, he’s better, better, best. They know so, their coaches know so, the screaming crowd as he walks out onto the pitch knows so. 

He feels it when he scores, dribbling straight through the defense and ignoring a teammate waiting hopefully for a pass as he soares past, and the stadium loses it. Feels it through the steady chant of “ _ Tommo! Tommo! Tommo! _ ” It’s all he hears, all around him, as he raises his arms.

He is loved. He is loved. He is loved.  _ Adored. _

  
  


Louis cracks open one eyes and groans as the waiting light burns straight through his brain and sets it on fire.

(He had been dreaming, what had he been dreaming about?)

He squeezes both eyes shut again and buries his face into his pillow.

(He was much smaller than he is now.)

It doesn’t help - he’s awake now, granted only half, and his brain has decided to punish him.

(His feet didn’t quite reach the floor, dangling, swinging off his chair as he traced one of his footie posters with small, careful fingers.) 

Actually, his entire body has decided to punish him and he curls up into himself as sharp cramps shudder through his muscles and his head swims.

(David Beckham.)

His throat aches with thirst.

(It had been Beckham’s poster.)

What had he  _ done  _ last night?

(Stan had been there, lying on Louis bed under the slanted roof and his dozens of overlapping posters, tossing a football up in the air and catching it.)

His body hates him - Louis doesn’t think he’s had this bad a hangover in a  _ while _ and god does Louis know hangovers.

(It’s becoming clearer now, focusing into sharp colours and the smell of worn wood and apple cleaning production, the sound of Stans breathing.) 

Louis needs it to be darker, needs the light gone, so he pulls his covers over his head to cocoon himself deep inside despite the sweaty heat crawling across his skin.

(Years and years ago Stan laughs, simple and free, a sound he can feel in his spine, and Louis grins back at him

“I am,” he insists, “I’m gonna be the best, you’ll see.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup,” he pops the p, feeling it roll around his mouth and spins his chair with a giggle, feet barely brushing the ground. “Innnnn…” he scrunches his nose in thought, squinting at the ceiling as he counts out the years, “ In fifteen years! When I’m twenty-five, twenty-fives a good age cause like you're still, like, young and not too old to play and like everyone still always talks about how good you are even though you're young but you’ve also had the time to make your career, right? I’ll have it all figured out by then, you’ll see, I’ll be rich and famous with my own pool and everything, like five cars. And I’ll play for Donny of course.” 

“Surrreeee.”

“I will! And a super pretty model girlfriend.” Stan sniggers and Louis stops spinning to stick his tongue out at him. “Don’t you believe in me?” 

“‘Course I do,” says Stan seriously, “Well… cept the girlfriend part and the - hey!” He giggles and hides behind his ball as Louis begins throwing coloured pencils at him.

“You asked me what I wanted to do when I was older and I told you my plan, my  _ dream _ and you don’t believe in me!”

“I do, I do, but what if you can’t play for Donny? What if-?”

“I’m gonna play for Donny,” repeats Louis stubbornly, “And I’ll stay there forever, I won’t play for anyone else ever even if they’re all begging and they have a load of money and Donny doesn’t have any, I’ll stick with Donny. Sept for England, of course, I’ll play for England too.”

“Oh, of course.” Louis rolls his eyes at his best friend and spins in his chair again, this time staring wistfully out the window.

“Fifteen years…”

“Hey, what about me?”

“Huh?”

“Will we still be friends? While you’re off being rich and famous and all that are you just gonna forget about me, your poor best friend, stuck here all by himself? And what about your mum?”

“What? No, never! I’ll call you all every day and send you expensive presents and bring you to all my awesome parties all the time,” he promises and anything else is unimaginable.)

Louis is tearing out of the imprisoning sheets, gasping for air and stumbling to the bathroom before he has the time to catch up with himself and realize what’s happening to throw up repeatedly into his toilet. 

_ Never. Never. Never. I’ll- _

He heaves up the remains of his stomach until he has nothing left to offer and collapses onto the cool tile floor, shaking. Years ago, that had been years and years ago and (fifteen years ago) - and and and he doesn’t want to think about it. There is nothing he wants to think about less. 

_ I’ll stick with Donny. _

He dry heaves into the toilet again. Energy now completely drained, he lies down on his bathroom floor, sweaty skin clinging to the cold tiles as he tries to breath. His head is  _ killing  _ him.  _ Fucking hell _ . Deep breaths - where had he been last night? A vague memory of flashing lights and loud music and brown eyes comes hesitantly forward but nothing else. A glass. Or five. More. Pills? Shit. Liam’s going to kill him. 

...what day is it? He frowns up at the sink and rubs his throbbing head, emotionless tears pooling in his eyes as he tries to think of the past week. Nothing. That’s probably worrying. He closes his eyes but his memory is murky, swimming away from him every time a blurry snapshot nears. His head  _ hurts _ .

_ Shit _ .

It’s probably fine. The world will probably come back to him when he wakes up a bit more and gets the remains of whatever he had last night properly out of his system. Yeah. 

...yeah.

A while (embarrassingly long) later he manages to drag himself off the floor and down toy his - rarely used - kitchen, finding no one and a quick wander around a few more empty rooms confirms it. He’s alone. The girl - boy? - must have left… he’s pretty sure there was one. Like … 50% sure. Whatever. He drinks a glass of water. Tastes like shut and does nothing to miraculously cure his hangover. Instead his empty stomach still feels sick and clenches unhappily at even the small amount of water he drinks in an attempt to get somewhat hydrated, while a deep uneasiness presses heavy in his spine that he can’t shake. Why are his hands fucking shaking? He wraps his arms instinctively around himself and tries to get his own words out of his head.  _ I’ll call you every day _ . 

When was the last time he saw Stan? A while. Years actually. But that wasn’t an encounter he can think about without a bottle of hard scotch or Irish whiskey. Why was his brain bringing this up? There’s no reason to bring this up. There are more reasons to  _ not _ bring this up than there are  _ to _ . He’s pacing the length of this kitchen, he realizes absentmindedly, feet moving of their own accord, spinning sharply once he reaches the end in order to keep going. Right. Thoughts. Memories. Aspirin? 

Aspirin. He’s reaching for a cupboard where he’s pretty sure he has some when a memory does come, random and blurry. Two men standing above him in grey suits. He’s pretty sure that even in his memory he’s drunk. A low nasally voice… his hand drops from where it had been reaching, movement forgotten, startling him for a second. What had he…  _ “- twice what you’re making now… starting next season… ahem, confidential for now, you understand?... public image…”  _

This time Louis is retching into the sink, aching muscles trembling from the effort when they have nothing to do. When did this happen?! What-?  _ I’m gonna stick with Donny. Even if…  _ He chokes on a panicked sob. One of the men in the grey suits had laughed at one of his jokes. He can distantly hear his own voice as if from a nightmare. “Yeah, alright… yes.”  _ Yes. Yes. Yes. I’m gonna stick with Donny. Yes. Fuck.  _ He - oh my god, he fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up. He - no. He - well this actually does explain how wrecked his head feels. God, Louis fucking hates being sober right now. He fucked up, he - he’s twenty five and he’s sitting on the kitchen floor crying and he fucked up. Ok, right, ok, so. Yes. Right. What day even is it? God is he supposed to be at practice? No… what time is it? What  _ month _ is it? 

January. He’s pretty sure - yeah, January. Ok, he feels a little bit better as he calms enough to sort even just this out. Yeah, January, he just got back from… oh. He’s just back from visiting his family. Ah. His brain clicks the pieces of the past few weeks into his mind and he groans, burying his head in his hands. Well, another thing he fucked up apparently. The sound of a door slamming behind him rings helpfully though his brain. 

_ I need to call my mum _ . The jumbled thought doesn’t make sense- he’s a mess, a disgusting mess with nothing to say ( Is he going to apologize? He might apologize. He feels panicked enough to apologize.) - but it’s an action, something to do and his desperate hands are looking for his phone, his shaking fingers clicking a contact before he can think about this at all - think beyond fucked up, fucked up,  _ fucked up _ . This is the first time in years he’s called his mum he thinks dazedly.

She doesn’t answer.

Louis eventually does what he does best when confronted with anything to do with emotions and decisions and he hides. Hides deep under a pile of blankets, curled up deep into his couch. His mum’s busy. She probably doesn’t have the time or didn’t hear the phone or…something. It’s fine. Maybe he should take a shower. His own stench is what finally propels him to follow through with the idea and it’s under the warm comforting fall of the water that he realizes that he should really just call his sister. Duh. He’s not even sure why he didn’t think of it  _ first _ . She’s one of the few people he’s in regular contact with. Lottie, he thinks distantly, is definitely upset and most likely disappointed after New Years but he can talk to Lottie. He can always talk to Lottie. Yes. Plan. Perfect. 

Next is a long hunt for his phone. His head must still be very wonky because he feels like somethings off as he stumbles through his rooms. The house is pretty new, actually none of his family have yet to visit, he moved in … what? Three months ago? But… he definitely doesn’t recognize that painting or that table or, when he opens his wardrobe, most of the clothes there (Louis has so so many clothes, where did he get all those clothes?). Yeah, definitely still very hungover. He shoves aside the sense of  _ something is wrong, something is very wrong, even more wrong than usual  _ slithering down his back and finds his phone - since when does he have a bloody iPhone?! - in the kitchen. Beside a toaster that must be new because he does not recognize it  _ at all _ . 

Lotties phone rings and rings and rings and Louis doesn’t know why he felt so weird calling her and doesn’t know why he's starting to wonder if she’s going to pick up at all. She does and he breathes a sigh of relief. So everything hasn’t crumbled overnight then.

“Louis?” Or maybe it has. Why does she sound so surprised? Confused? Worried? He’s not sure he can read the emotion properly but it’s definitely not good. Since when does she call him Louis?

“Hey, Lottie, uh hi.” He suddenly doesn’t know what to say. Usually he always knows what to say with Lottie.

“Why are you calling?” Oh god she’s mad at him. Loui hates hates hates when people are mad at him. His head  _ hurts _ . He could be  _ dying _ and no, that’s not excessive it’s exactly what it feels like. 

“Um, to say, I - listen Lottie, I’m sorry for New Years, you know how it is with me and mum right now, yeah? I just - I’m sorry if I hurt you or any of the girls and I just I feel like shit right now and I wanted to talk and-” Louis is so so bad at apologizes. For a split second he’s glad when she interrupts him.

“God, are you already drunk Louis? What are you talking about?”

Louis' head hurts so much and what she’s saying doesn’t make sense, she definitely definitely remembers, there’s no way she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he’s staring at the toaster he’s definitely sure he’s never before seen in his life.

“New Years,” he says, “I’m talking about New Years.” It’s red. The toaster. It’s red. Looks right fancy as well with like a bunch of buttons he wouldn’t know what to do with, why does a toaster need buttons?

“New Years was four months ago,” she says sharply and she’s definitely angry and no, that’s not right, that can’t be right. “And you didn’t spend it with us anyway, you were off who knows where,” she continues.

“What?”

“Why are you calling me Louis?”

“I-” he’s pretty sure this is what pure, unfiltered panic feels like, “I’m calling to talk to you, Lots. What - new year was a week ago. Mum and I had a fight, I was calling to make sure you’re all all right, I don’t understand-”

“No,  _ I _ don’t understand Louis,” she sounds so tired, “The last time you called any of us was over a year ago and the last time you spent New Years was… longer than that. Sure you and mum had a fight then but honestly, it’s way way too late to be apologizing for  _ that _ when you never cared before so  _ sober up  _ and  _ then _ decide if you still want to give your little sister any of your precious time and cut the bullshit.” 

A beep and he’s left staring at a blank screen. What. 

It’s April. It’s April and it’s almost  _ two years later than he thought it was _ . So he’s hiding again. But now even the comfort of being buried neck deep in a pile of his clothes on the floor of his closed closet can’t fight back The Panic. It needs capital letters.  _ Two years. _ The date was written on his phone when he checked it and on the calendar hanging up and the TV and then Louis went into hiding. He… he can’t remember it, the two years. They don’t feel completely gone… more like… blurry, a dream that he can only get snatches of, a vague feeling more than anything. Maybe they’ll come back he tells himself, they’ll probably come back. He’s just hungover and tired and feverish and and and … and it’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine. He has it under control. It’s a little hard to convince himself of the last thing when he’s hiding from his empty house in his walk-in closet under a pile of expensive hoodie and jumpers and t-shirts that he can’t remember buying. 

He can’t believe he didn’t apologize to him mum. He can’t believe he hasn’t called Lottie in over a year. 

Louis misses him mum. 

Fuck. He probably had a good reason. Probably. Yeah. He can’t imagine just not talking to his mum for no reason. There was definitely something. But…  _ two years _ ? That’s a long time. That feels like a really really long time. Shit, he’s twenty five.  _ I’ll have it figured out by then, you’ll see. _ Ten year old Louis seems to have decided that today has a brilliant day to haunt him. 

This can’t be … he can’t… he  _ was _ supposed to have it worked out by now. Surely everything can’t be  _ worse _ than it was two years ago?  _ He doesn’t even talk to his mum. _

The ache in his head lessens after a nap in the closet and then a wander through his house during but The Panic doesn’t. It’s not that he still doesn’t remember anything, it’s actually starting to come back a little, it’s just that he’s starting to realize that he would really really rather not. Louis has so many clothes and so many rooms and so many cars and he’s pretty sure he’s never hated it all before.

He can’t hate the pool. The pool is good. The pain meds said to eat beforehand but he still feels nauseous and anyway they also said to only take one and he ignores that too, so. He doesn’t count actually, just pops them into his mouth one by one (which still counts right?) as he floats on his back in the middle of his giant empty pool in the middle of his giant empty house in the middle of his giant empty garden. Through the windows, the sky is soft and gentle, drifting aimless clouds and tired blue.

He spreads his arms and floats.

  
  


There are people around him, people moving and shouting and  _ loud _ but, for once, he’s not a part of them. For once, their sound seems very far away and Louis feels very quiet. He’s not sure he’s still a person at all. 

He’s still wet but he can feel hands shaking his body now too and the ground hard beneath him and he’s pretty sure that’s Liam’s voice that he’s hearing and there are flashing lights somewhere but the drug induced clouds are still just in reach so he lets them pull him softly away again. Lets himself fall away from the swirling reality worlds away. 

  
  


Louis feels like shit. The bloody machine beside his bed is beeping angrily and he has never seen Liam this stressed. He’s trying to say something, pacing in front of Louis bed looking like he hasn’t slept in a week but has yet to manage uttering anything articulate enough to understand. That goddamn infernal machine shrieks  _ again _ and Louis has to restrain himself from kicking it. He’s hooked into a load of them, crowding morbidly around his bed, beeping and bliping and sticking uncomfortably into him from every direction. They only add to the building pressure in his head, currently being murdered from the harsh lighting and the incessant sound and Liam’s non stop movement and he’s fairly sure he’s at least a little dehydrated between the pounding deep in his skull and the sandpaper dryness of his throat. 

“Oh my god, please just  _ stop moving _ ,” he finally snaps at Liam (and fuck he sounds so  _ tired _ like some old man), who freezes immediately into an almost military like standstill position before frowning at him.

There’s a question in his bloodshot, exhausted eyes and Louis hates this, hates the clinical smell of the room and the ugly collar scheme and just  _ knowing _ that he’s in hospital. Hospitals make him want to scream. And run. Away. Far, far away. He owes Liam a response, Liam who puts up with all his shit, Liam who came looking for him when he missed practice and found him floating fully dressed in his swimming pool unconscious with an empty bottle of pills. Oh god, fuck everything honestly. Right now he’s too tired and his head hurts too much and he just knows that anything that could come out of his mouth would only make things worse so he closes his eyes in a pathetic attempt to escape dealing with anything and slides away once more shockingly easily.

When he wakes up again, slowly and groggily but thankfully without quite as much of a headache, the light is dimmed, coming from only a warm lamp on the bedside table and keeping the room mostly dark, a relief his eyes almost cry over. Liams still there but he’s dragged a chair over to beside Louis, slumped into it and staring vacantly at the wall as he turns his phone over and over in his hands. It’s painfully obvious that he’s the only other person there but Louis is all the same glad that he has his own room. 

“Hey,” he mumbles and Liam startles badly enough that he almost falls off his chair. In a better state of mind, Louis would bully him mercilessly. 

“Louis! Oh, thank god. Good, yeah ok sorry I - yes. How are you feeling?” 

“Shit, honestly.” Liam nods seriously, looking a little panicked.

“Should I go get a doctor? Or a nurse? I can-“ 

“Nah mate, it’s fine. No, uh, no people actually. No people is good.” Liam nods, all classic puppy dog sadness. Louis just means he still wants to sleep. He can feel the headache threatening still at the back of his mind. A hospital like this, at night, is one of those weird unreal places, he’s finding. Everything feels a little blanketed and far away. 

“I can go then,” says Liam quickly, already getting up and nearly tripping over himself as he reaches for his coat.

“No, I meant -“ … anyone but Liam really “You’re fine, I don’t, I don’t mind you. But you do look awful yourself mate, have you slept?” Louis frowns leaning forward a little to the panic of a machine to his left, screeching in frantic alarm. Liam does look terrible, dark shadows under his eyes and usually carefully brushed hair a disarrayed mess. Louis doesn’t assume he looks any better but he  _ is _ the one currently on the bed. They can only afforded one breakdown between the two of them. Liam shakes his head reluctantly. “Go,” Louis tells him, “Sleep, I’ll be fine. We’ll talk in the morning.” 

This time, falling asleep is much harder.

Morning doesn’t make anything better. Louis genuinely hates whoever decided that morning somehow makes things better, all that ‘it’ll be better once you’ve slept on it’  _ bullshit _ . Morning makes all the things that night soothes and hides very very clear. Morning brings Liam once more, now clutching a large black coffee looking willing to fight anyone who might dare go near it. Louis on the other hand had to beg for a small, now empty, cup of tea. Morning also brings doctors.

He’s being watched, he realizes, never allowed out of sight of a nurse with a clipboard and careful eyes. He might scream.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he forces out through gritted teeth to Liam as they wait for the doctor with his report and gets a pair of narrowed eyes full of disbelief and confusion. “I swear.” He’s not sure why but it’s the first time all morning Liam has met his eyes, there’s something like hurt there too, something he’s holding back. 

“Then what was it Tommo?” Good question. He sounds tired. So fucking tired. 

The ring of his phone - given over by Liam after much needling with strict parent controls because apparently Louis is ten years old - saves him from having to reply straight away.

It’s his mum. 

They both watch it ring in silence. 

“I just wanted to…” sleep? forget? escape? he doesn’t even think he had thought that far ahead, “... to get away a bit. Peace of mind or some shit. Like the quiet. I had a headache. I… I didn't really think, it wasn’t…” He trails off and looks away, clearing his throat. Louis is eloquent at all times except for when he has to explain what’s going on in his head. It’s always such a mess he never has the words. People sort of expect him to think things through much more than he does, to always have  _ reasons. _ Sometimes there is no fucking reason. 

The rhythmic beeping of the machines churning away to attempt to repair the damage Louis did to himself fills the empty space in the room as Liam says nothing, empty eyes wandering to the view Louis has over the car park and the climbing sun in a shockingly clear English sky.

“Ok,” he says suddenly and Louis starts. “Ok.” He nods as if to convince himself and it’s surprisingly painful to watch him visibly pull himself together. “Ok.” He straightens his shirt and they continue to wait for the doctor in silence.

(Louis hates silence.)

The doctor is a small woman with greying hair, a severe frown and narrow, rectangular glasses. She and Liam get along fantastically. Of course. Louis zones out of what she’s saying as soon as she tells him that he’ll be able to play again once he’s out, and hasn’t done any significant damage, choosing instead to fiddle with his sleeves and stare out the window as she and Liam talk in what seems to be a load of made up words. 

He makes Liam retell him everything once she’s gone and basically - he’s fine but he has to stay a minimum of five days to make sure everything’s out of his system and because they think it was on purpose he has to talk to someone. 

“Telling them you do hard drugs and lost a significant chunk of your memory because of it didn’t help that part,” grumbles Liam through pierced lips. Louis can’t figure out if he’s sad or mad. It’s not something he would ever have admitted to had he not still been high and drowsy from whatever’s in his system.

At least the doctor seems sure his memory will return completely in a couple of days. Not an unheard of phenomenon apparently.

“Well it was unheard of to me,” says Louis and now he’s pretty sure Liam is mad. The redening of his cheeks as he tries not to shout in a hospital sort of gives him away. 

Lunch is bland and tasteless and Liam spends it on the other side of the room, hissing angrily into his phone and occasionally storming out and back inside. Louis stares blankly at the floor and tries to remember anything from the past year with little to no success. Soon, the doctor had said, soon. Why not sooner? he thinks irritatedly.

He’s given up on the mostly untouched plate in front of him when Liam comes to stand above him.

“Yeah?” He asks when the other man does nothing but block the sunlight and glare but Liam just frowns, clearly trying to figure out how to say something as he chews on his lip.

“Why is the manager for Arsenal trying to get in here Louis?” Oh.  _ Oh. _ Louis bones drop like awful weights on his muscles and Liam starts to say something else and oh my god this is so much worse than he thought and Liam is  _ still _ speaking and his hand goes automatically to press against his stomach when he realizes that his lunch is fighting it’s way back up. Can he even breath? Are his lungs working? Why is Liam still talking? He’s getting louder now, fighting to break the fog clouding around Louis but no, no, no, he’s not ready , he can’t hear it, he  _ can’t,  _ so he puts his hands over his ears and curls into his legs. The chair is rocking hysterically back and forth and - no, that’s him, that’s him. At least now he’s sure he’s breathing - he can hear it echoing loudly in his ears. Even to him it sounds panicked and he knows this is ridiculous and he’s twenty five, an adult, and - he bolts. Gets up and sprints to the bathrooms, jabbering an incoherent excuse halfway out the door.

He empties all of the disgusting hospital food in his stomach into a toilet, retching miserably as his body shakes and sweats uncontrollably, clutching to the toilet seat for comfort. Once finished, he stands numbly and runs the tap as cold as he can before dunking his face right in, ignoring the way is shoulders seize up for a second in shock, and drinks greedily. His shaking fingers turn the tap off before he looks up to meet his own eyes in the mirror. 

His eyes don’t even really look blue anymore.

He retches into the sink.

His body figures out what’s happening before he does, crumpling pathetically into harsh, crippling sobs, legs giving out under him like a warning alarm. Louis remembers everything while hyperventilating under the hospital sink.

The medics find him less than half an hour later and give him the strongest sedatives they have.

He’s still mostly out of it, away in a hazy dreamland, the next day when his location gets leaked.

His mum calls.

Liam is furious but there’s no way to know who did it so he’s left raging against nothing. 

She calls repeatedly actually, twice the first day, once the next.

His fans are in an apparent uproar that he might not be able to play the next match, each of his social media’s blowing up with anger.

Louis doesn’t have the energy to face her, the courage to respond.

Someone tries to break in to see him.

He just watches the phone ring.

“I just don’t understand,” says Liam from his armchair beside Louis bed, straight backed and tense and god, Liam, Liam is taking this personally like a blow Louis had meant to deliver right to him. The drowsy sedatives still swishing through his veins can’t stop the sharp realization that hits him straight in the gut, a roll of self loathing he can’t breath past, at the badly concealed pain in Liam’s eyes. He hadn’t meant it, hadn’t meant to hurt Liam or his mum who’s calls he’s still ignoring, hasn’t meant anything in a while, but it’s hard to avoid when he can see it right in front of his eyes. He hurt liam, he’s still hurting Liam and he doesn’t know how to make it stop and they would just be better off without him honestly. His hands curl to dig his nails as hard as he can into his palms. It helps him focus.

Liam is waiting for an answer. Always one for poetic brilliance, Louis shrugs. He needs a drink. He doesn’t think he can get through this conversation without a drink.

_ I’ll stick with Donny _ .

How do you so utterly and completely fail yourself?

He’s not ready to lose Liam.

Does he even have Liam?

“Louis, please, I - the doctor told me to avoid any triggers but I just need you to explain what’s going on, talk to me, please?” 

“I’m not leaving,” he bursts out and words fall over themselves in a steady stream he can’t stop, “I called the first day I woke up here and I cancelled it but I was going to but I think I was drunk and one of them laughed at my joke and I’m not leaving now I swear and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but-“ He’s waving his arm around now, overly aware of how fast he’s speaking and how jerky and desperate his movement is.

“Louis,” Liam interrupts, he looks so tired and that’s Louis fault, all his fault and he wishes he was more sedated. “I… so it’s true? You were going to? Without telling me?” Liam is not the small one out of the two of them and Louis is very aware of that but he sounds small now. Louis feels a bit like screaming. He would honestly rather jump out the window than have this conversation. His mouth tastes like acid.

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet for once, and low, catching in his throat. There’s nothing much else to say.

“Why?” Liam is killing him. Killing him. He definitely deserves it. 

“I-“

“I could understand leaving Donny, almost, Tommo, if you told me about it because, you know in case you forgot, I’m your agent. It’s not like you made an effort to get attached or make connections but agreeing to making sure they lose? They’re your teammates, that’s, that’s honestly disgusting.” Really it’s a good thing that there’s nothing in his stomach but breathing is still a problem - he’s sure the room still has air so why does it feel like he’s suffocating? 

“I don’t know.” Weak and broken and cowardly and pathetic even to his own ears. Liam looks at him disbelievingly. “I just, they, and they offered and I just, I guess I just thought that-“ he hadn’t been thinking at all clearly, more likely he had been drinking but he can’t say that and he can’t explain himself- “it would be better? Like they just - I don’t, I don’t even know but they made it seem like they would, like it would  _ solve _ things? And, and they…  _ they were the only ones offering to solve anything _ and I needed, I don’t, I needed solving I guess, or to like get out of of my own head and just everything and everyone was waiting, expecting, me to be amazing and I - so I… I went along with it.”

He hates himself so much it makes it hard to breath and he wishes he could break his body into little pieces so it matches his brain. His stupidly soft and breakable skin and bones. Pathetic.

Liam looks uncomfortable and a little like he wants to cry and no one should ever be allowed to make Liam cry.

“I’m sorry.” He’s aware that he’s begging. He’s fucking begging and to Liam Payne of all people. He has absolutely nothing else to offer. 

“I- I’m going to get some fresh air,” Liam blurts out uncomfortably, already half out of his chair and leaving an empty space behind.

Liam has to kick him to get his attention when he comes back and Louis has no idea how long it’s been. He’s lying on the floor, one arm covering his eyes. There’s something about the floor that’s just comforting. Soothing. It’s hard to think the worlds all bad when lying awkwardly spread out on the floor, aching from the hardness. Ok, maybe he’s been here too long. How long was Liam  _ gone _ ? He can’t help but wonder if anyone else has come in without him noticing and simply decided not to deal with the dramatic footballer lying in the middle of his floor without moving. Fair enough really. 

He moves his arm a fraction to squint angrily upwards.

“Ow.”

Liam sighs.

“What are you doing on the floor Tommo?”

“Nothing bad can happen on the floor.” 

Liam visibly decides not to acknowledge that and simply move on.

“Well can you get up?” Any other day and Louis would have stayed on the floor with his aching back out of sheer spite. Unfortunately today he’s trying to be a halfway decent human being so he finds himself dragging his tired, sore body back on his bed. Liam waits and watches with something like exasperation as Louis crawls over and proceeds to claw himself up by the bedsheets.

Louis looks at Liam. Liam looks at Louis. Louis looks at Liam. His lungs are stretched painfully tight and his fingers at once some digging into the soft skin of his palm. Liam isn’t saying anything, why isn’t Liam saying anything?

“Coach was er, asking about … he, uh,” Liam is the worst liar Louis has ever met. Point blank. But he’s even worse at trying to avoid saying something or soften the blow of his words. “He knows about Arsenal, Tommo.” So he usually just gives up when he gets too flustered. “He doesn’t want you to come back.” There it is. 

“N- not come back? Like… at the end of the season?”

Liam clears his throat uncomfortably. “Like starting now.” No. No, no, no, no, no. No. Louis lunges forward and Liam yelps in surprise as he desperately grips his sleeves, practically on Liam’s lap. 

“No, no, Liam I have to finish the season, I  _ have  _ to, you don’t understand, I have to finish it. I can win. I can get us to win, he has to let me come back, please, please Liam, you can do anything, make him let me back, please.” His voice is rising hysterically, pitching higher and higher as he runs out of air. 

“Tommo, Tommo, it's probably for the best if you just leave quietly and -“ Liam says carefully but not completely convinced, eyes wide with shock at Louis' dramatic display.

“No, Liam I - I have to finish the season. I can leave afterwards, I swear I’ll leave afterwards but I have to finish the season. Tell me I can stay just till the end of this season, I’ll do anything you want. Liam I am literally begging you,  _ please. _ I promise. I promise I’ll do anything, I’m going to make us win, just… convince Coach,  _ I promise  _ I çan - I can make this up to you, I can fix this, I can fix everything. You just… you just need to…  _ please Liam. _ ”

  
  


Liam is a worker of miracles. It takes him barely an hour of speaking politely on the phone for Louis to be finishing the season. He only takes the time to tell Louis and grab himself a coffee before launching himself into a flurry of phone meetings, most of which he is equally polite and charming during and a couple during which he had to go into the car park to yell down the line. By the end of the day, he is wired and tense, eyes a little too wide and a little too many empty coffee cups in Louis rooms bin but Louis is finishing the season and he has a row of interviews lined up. He groans stiffly when Louis throws his arms around him cheering but he’s smiling. Two days later and Louis home just before his Sunday morning interview. 

His house is too big for one person. Too empty to be alone in. But Liam’s new rules are very clear. No parties. No alcohol. No scandals. Louis goes to bed.

**Now**

His days slide naturally into a routine he can move robotically through without even realizing. He wakes up horrifyingly early and drags himself downstairs to eat something as equally horrifyingly healthy before going on a run. He goes to training. He eats lunch sitting in the stadium seats and trying not to shiver. He has a lesson with his personal fitness coach. He takes the longest way home, playing music just loud enough that he can’t hear his own thoughts through the beat while toeing the speed limit. He practices alone, setting up his own drills, again and again and again. He tests how long he can stay underwater without needing to come up for air. He avoids his phone. He goes to bed early. He does his best to sleep without waking up in the middle of the night to throw up his dinner. He fails and watches reruns of his old games until he falls asleep on the couch.

It’s fine.

_ Fame Too Much For Doncaster Rovers Star Captain _

_ Tommo, Donnys Star Player Mysteriously Silent After Revealing Shocking Truths _

_ Is The Tommo Finally Settling Down? _

_ All You Need To Know - Tommo, Football and Fame _

_ Will Tommo Be Switching Teams or Leaving Footie For Good? _

_ Tommos Secret Girlfriend? Top Ten Of Who We Think It Could Be _

_ Worried Fans ‘Wishing They Knew More’ About How Donnys ‘Tommo’ Is Doing  _

His teammates hadn’t even pretended to be surprised when Coach had explained the situation. They hadn't said a word afterwards and hadn’t said a word since. It changes shockingly little. Louis doesn’t understand how he never understood that they hated him, they’re a team… plus Louis, even during practice. (He does actually, he’s a prick, a self centered, narcissistic prick.) He’s passed to and included in team game plans, he is still their captain, but nothing else, not dressing room talks or after practice matches and he honestly can’t remember the last time he was. He’s not sure he has the energy for small talk anyway. But he doesn’t think he’s imagining that the atmosphere hasn’t gone from cold to hostile.

If he spends the entire day running himself to the ground, he collapses easily onto his pillow in the evening, too exhausted to think, and he can’t complain about spending as much time as possible in the safety of his bed and the thought free zone of sleep. 

So yeah, he’s fine. 

They win.

And they win.

And they win.

And he scores and scores and scores.

His house is still just as empty and his phone is still just as terrifying.

Louis can feel the entire stadium shake, the ground beneath him thrumming win the screams filling every hidden crook underneath his skin, and for a split second he lies alone breathing it in, the smell of fresh grass and victory, and then he’s being hauled to his feet and he’s surrounded by hot bodies grabbing onto him and shouting incomprehensibly into his ears. He’s not even sure who picks him up first but he’s being grown into the air and carried to the roaring stands, clinging on in surprise. He sticks his tongue out at the one man booing and the crowd goes wild.

They won.  _ They won _ . They won with Donnys best ever season rolled out behind them and none of the lads have stopped smiling. It looks like it must hurt, skin pulled painfully tight as they slap each other delightedly on the back. He’s included for once, the high of the game taking over anything else, the high of his ending, winning goal. Even Coach pulls him into a hug, crying. 

Then the families come over. Of course. Babies and girlfriends and wives and proud mothers and fathers. Louis turns away and goes to find Liam. He’s crying too. Pulls Louis in tightly while sobbing.

“We made it, Tommo, we did it, you did it.”

He did. He did it. His life goal since he was eight years old and watching Donny lose 8:1 on the sitting room telly. Over. Completed. Done. He looks around at his crying and laughing teammates, still grinning, still hugging their loved ones and wonders if he’s supposed to feel this numb. 

The cup is cool in his sweaty hands. He stares down at his reflection in the shiny silver and tries to tell himself that this is the best thing he’s ever done until someone clears their throat behind him. The stadium erupts as he lifts it above his head and he makes sure to smile widely for the dozens of cameras pointed directly at the sight.

The party is filled with people he’s supposed to know and who definitely know him. More importantly, it’s filled with free alcohol and beautiful people who laugh in delight as he spins on the dance floor.

Drink one.

He winks at the bar man and nods along to what a French model is saying while taking in the scène already in full swing below him.

Drink two.

He excuses himself without a backward glance and glides towards the dance floor.

Drink three.

Someone is grinding up against him from behind while someone else might just be trying to eat his neck. He lifts his hands to the ceiling.

Drink four.

He lets himself be shoved into a strategically placed wardrobe and moans at all the right times.

Drink five.

He throws himself off the bar top and trusts the drunken folley to carry him around the room, hundreds of hands pressed against his back and legs to keep him up in the air, cheering.

Dunk six.

Someone he’s not sure he’s ever met bets they can outdrink him, a sure sign he’s been gone from the partying scene for too long.

Drink seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

They throw up under the table. And he laughs and laughs and laughs.

Someone he definitely doesn’t know suggests something stronger and he throws himself into their arms, barely able to stand and lets himself be led away. 

Time passes. People scream. He screams. Bright lights flashing. Hands, hands, hands everywhere. Pink lips. Pop music.

Someone holds him upright as he empties his stomach into a toilet. Then they leave. He slumps against the bathroom tiles and the room spins and spins and everyone coming in and out spin too. The bathroom ceiling is yellow. 

His little sisters favorite colour used to be yellow. He can’t remember which one. 

He cries.

Someone offers him a drink.

He takes it.

Drink thirteen.

One of his little sisters' favorite colour used to be yellow but he can’t remember which one and he doesn’t know if it’s changed. Maybe she likes orange now instead. 

The medical cabinet hangs open. It looks very far away from the ground but he needs something to take away the pain and maybe just take him away as well and somehow that distance doesn’t matter because he has the entire contents in his hands now. 

Louis doesn’t know how many he takes before the world fades completely and he sinks into black.

_ I’ll never know if she still likes yellow now _ he thinks before his body gives in to the poison he’s forced down his throat. 


	2. Malik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyy  
> ...so this is gonna take longer to write than I thought BUT I do have it all planned out so yay me, won’t lie it’s a pretty rare occurrence   
> I’ve kinda fallen in love with these characters and their stories so far ahahaha so I hope you do too :) 
> 
> Uh I should probably so a disclaimer here (sorta spoiler I guess) : so in this chapter Louis goes to a ‘mental hospital’, mental restoration for the rich type place. Now I have never been to one of these, don’t claim to know anything about them, the way this one works is purely just to fit how I want it to work. So.   
> I should also probably add that I don’t know if Liam’s job is a real one, I kinda just made it up but I’m sure that here’s some real life version of it anyway
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING AND (not major) SPOILER   
> -eating disorder, not much detail like at all really but I thought I’d mention it anyway  
> -and I guess Louis’ just general mental state could be considered...? Idk, he’s not too bad but just in case :) 
> 
> Ok and lastly, in a more positive note, music! I have a playlist and like certain songs I listen to a lot while writing this so if you want to get in the mood I guess? (These are for this chapter and also the last one oops)   
> -somewhere in Ann Arbor by anson seabra I feel just kinda describes Louis at the start of this fic :/ and inspired me a lot at the beginning   
> \- I miss my mum by cavetown, if I were you by claud and oh my good the list by maisie peters   
> I have also been listening to A LOT of Nialls solo music because GOD AGH I love it so much I would die for that man, specifically the song flicker? Kill me now oh my god and I listened to fools gold by 1D for five hours straight the other night at 2am so take from that what you will  
> And of course Louis solo music too do I even need to mention
> 
> Oh and lastly I just feel like I should mention - this fic, like the beginning, was very loosely inspired by a 13 going on 30 fic that I no longer remember the name of but yeah it strayed so far from that that I forgot to mention before. If you do find that fic it’s really good, would recommend.

Louis drags his toes as he walks, running them along the smart wooden panels with each step then letting them trail behind him for a beat. It smells funny. He glances up from the floor to scowl at Liam’s muscled back walking ahead of him, weighed down by all of Louis' bags but seemingly unaware as he chatters away with the nurse showing them around.

Barely out of hospital a day and he’s already being shipped off. He runs his nails all the way up the banister and Liam turns around to shoot him a frown at the squeezing sound, only making his scowl deepen. 

There had been many long arguments about this arrangement since Louis’ doctor first mentioned it (the moment Louis had been able to stay awake long enough for him to do so) with pursed careful lips. Which - not a conversation Louis ever wants to think about again. Clearly, Liam had won. Louis honestly has no idea how. But here he is.

Yay.

They pass through a set of doors and he makes sure to bang them unnecessarily loudly behind himself. Liam looks mildly embarrassed as he looks apologetically at the unfazed nurse - probably gets a lot worse here, with all the nutcases.  _ No, not nutcases, Liam had said, just others like you. So nutcases, had said Louis.  _

He sighs loudly as they stop, yet again, for the nurse to point out something else apparently noteworthy. Louis doesn’t want a tour, doesn’t want to be here, couldn’t give a damn about their gardens and pool and whatever else ‘top class facilities’ entails. He’s tired. He just wants to go to bed. His bed preferably, he thinks with another scowl at Liam, burying himself deeper into his oversized hoodie and trying to find comfort in the soft fabric as he digs his hands into his pockets, too tired to carry them. But really, honestly at this point in this painful day, he’ll take whatever bed they give him, so long as it’s a bed.

What they give him turns out to be…  _ not bad at all _ . Liam grunts as he lets Louis bags fall to the floor before humming, pleased, as they step into Louis' new room for the next few weeks. Ok so, it’s nicer than he thought it would be, he’ll give it that . But it’s not like ‘mental hospital’ - or whatever mental restoration and guidance facility bullshit Liam was sprouting - exactly conjured the nicest images, even when Liam went around insisting that it was extremely elite, extremely expensive, extremely reputable, for the rich and famous only. Somehow actually, the idea of being stuck with only a bunch of millionaires with their heads stuffed up their arses and drinking problems, didn’t help. Strange that. 

But yeah, he can admit that the rooms nice, although he refuses to show that in front of Liam for the sake of his pride. It’s big at least, massive windows letting the setting sunlight pit in, long silk curtains held discreetly away, and lighting the room in gentle, warm colors. A low cream couch faces a large TV, shelves of books he won’t read and a low marble table stacked with a gift basket full of food that matches the yellow, cream and white colour theme of the room, which honestly? A bit much. 

And two beds. Two massive, pillow and cushion loaded beds, but two beds nonetheless.

“A roommate,” he says slowly, dully, staring at the second, empty yet waiting bed. “A roommate.”  The word feels strange, uncomfortable, on his tongue, even when he repeats it. Louis has never in his entire life had a roommate, has never had to share his room despite his small house and big family. The quiet rational voice at the back of his head that only ever talks either to make him feel bad or at a bad time, says it’s really not that big of a deal.  Louis has always been a people person. But his stomach is twisting over itself.

“You never said I would have to share a room.” He hates how spoilt celebrity his voice makes him sound, accusing and sharp, but the look Liam sends him holds more understanding than even Louis can feel at himself. He turns to calmly thank the nurse and ask for a moment alone while Louis wanders over to collapse onto his new bed. He chooses the one closer to the door and more light-basked by the window.

The doctor at the hospital had told him to  make lists of good things.  _ Every day, doesn’t matter how small the thing is, add it to the list, the list fills out pretty quickly some days. Some days less, but that’s not the point. The point is that there are always little reasons to keep going.  _ That doctor had sprouted a lot of what Louis feels is probably bullshit. He also hadn’t believed him when Louis had told him he didn’t want to die.  But he’s always liked making lists. 

It’s not a very long list.

It goes something like this;

  1. Liam. On most days Liam is a good thing. However at least once a day Louis mind threatens to remove him from the list because he’s also one of the biggest - he’s Liam, and Louis is Louis and that’s just how that is. 
  2. Beds. Beds are… curling up in bed makes things feel just a little bit better. Beds are a good thing every single day. Maybe they should be at the top of the list instead of fucking goddamn Liam Payne or otherwise know as the-reason-Louis-is-here-and-not-at-home-in-his-own-bed.



Maybe he should start writing the reasons down. There were probably more, at least at some point. Oh bloody well.

“Tommo?” He snaps back to attention to scowl at Liam.

“Yeah?” Liam probably- Liam definitely doesn’t deserve to be snapped at but he’s tired and angry and tense and Liam never seems to mind anyway and he’s not sure if that just makes him want to scream more. Their eyes both go to the second bed.

“It was either a roommate or a nurse,” says Liam with a small sigh, “And you’ve always preferred company anyway, no?” He bites his lip, all puppy dog concern and Louis might hate him a little. It’s  purely impossible to be mad at Liam Payne.  He looks away from those wide treacherous brown eyes to frown at the ceiling. 

“Whatever.”” Liam’s right. To the point where even Louis isn’t bothered to argue it. He’s always been one of those people who draws energy for others and hates spending any time alone. But he still can’t shake the anxious pooling in his stomach at the thought of a stranger living right beside him, always there  _ and _ mentally unstable if their being here means anything. If he gets murdered by his crazy roommate, Louis thinks irritably, he’s going to come back and haunt Liam Payne to the grave. “Some warning would have been nice.” Louis is well aware he’s a nuisance but at this point it’s a habit, he can’t even help himself.

Liam sighs.

“You would know if you bothered to read the website  _ or _ the brochures I gave you.”

“But that's why I have  _ you _ , Liam, that’s your  _ entire job _ , the entire point of your existence.” 

Liam snorts, before turning away, like he’s already won the argument, towards Louis bags but Louis still catches what he mutters next.

“Not enough.”

“I pay you fortunes!” Louis exclaims offended, “Fortunes and fortunes, all I do is pay you!”

“No amount of money is enough to deal with your drama, Tommo.” Liam leans over and starts to open Louis bags while Louis himself huffs and flips off the muscled back now turned away from him. Liam’s probably right. Again. 

Liam works through carefully unpacking then tidying Louis stuff (bags that Liam had been the one to pack so honestly Louis a small bit scared of what’s in them but so far it seems fine, cozy clothes, tracksuits and t shirts and one pair of jeans) while Louis watches on from his new bed in silence, letting his eyes roam over the room over and over in hopes of finding something familiar.  Liam pulls out a mini football and Louis can feel his shoulders tensing so he crawls up his bed and hides himself deep inside a cocoon of blankets and pillows. 

  
  


“Tommo?”

He grunts something muffled into his pillow in response.

“Have you… have you contacted anyone yet? Home?” Louis hands clench painfully around a cushion. 

“No.”

“Tommo-“

“No.”

Liam pauses and sighs but it’s a rul e. A very clear, important rule that Louis put in place as soon as he met Liam. It’s a rule and Louis has always clung to the few rules he establishes around himself. Liam won’t break it, never has, and Louis thinks he understands at least a bit. Family stays out of it. Out of everything.

“I just think you should tell them. At least your mother…”

“No.”

He can feel Liam chewing his lip.

“I could inform them if you want?”

“No.” He doesn’t… he doesn’t want to worry them and, more selfishly, he doesn’t want to answer their questions. And they deserve better than a call from Liam, someone they’ve never met but who talks to Louis more than any of them combined on a daily basis. So they get nothing. It makes sense in his head.

“Alright Tommo,” Liam sighs.

Finally, too soon, Liam finishes. 

“You're not allowed a smartphone,” he frets, “but I’ve got you this one that can only call, no internet or anything, with my number, so if anything happens, call me. Call me, ok Tommo?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis nods obediently, watching him set it on his bedside table.

And then he’s gone and Louis left alone again.

Liam is gone and Louis hasn’t moved from where he’s huddled deep into his twisted blankets and mound of pillows and cushions when there’s a knock at the door. He blinks and lifts his heavy head to look over at it, wondering if he possibly has enough strength to move. Another knock. He doesn’t have the strength to move, much less go all the way across the room to answer the door. 

Instead he takes a deep breath before forcing out a croaked,“Yeah?”

A small pause and he considers crying at the thought of having to try again but the door swings open a second later, framing the same nurse who had shown him and Liam around earlier as they step inside apologetically.

“Mr Tomlinson?” He groans into his pillow but shoves himself up into a sort of sitting position, propped up against the back of his bed, still bundled tightly in blankets. He’s well aware he looks a wreck.

He is made considerably more aware when a man (a fucking angle?) strolls in calmly after the nurse. If Louis had known this man before, when people still used to ask why he likes men, he would only have to give him as the whole reason. Impossibly slim, impossibly beautiful, impossibly graceful.

He doesn’t look happy to be here.

Shit, he’s prettier than Louis. Louis never associates with anyone prettier than him.

Neither of them say anything.

“Louis, this is Zayn,” introduces the nurse with a small wave, “your new roommate. And Zayn- Louis.” Oh.  _ Oh. _

“Zayn Malik?” He gets a nod in reply. Of course.  _ Of course.  _ Malik is… well, he’s a household face. You don’t get more beautiful than Zayn Malik.

Louis’ never met him, which means he’s not much of a partier- but he’s definitely heard of him. And seen him. Across any billboard or magazine rich and influential enough to afford it. Curiosity comes peeking up from a corner in his head and he can’t help but wonder how the models ended up here.

“And you’re Tomlinson.” There’s a soft roll to his voice, an accent Louis can’t place. It’s not a question but he nods anyway.

“Right, perfect,” says the nurse, “I’m sorry for interrupting your nap, mr Tomlinson, have you finished moving in?” Louis nods again and they turn back to Malik, “You’ve both just arrived today, so you can learn the ropes of this place together but for now, Mr Malik, you can just get yourself settled in until you’re called down for dinner.”

The words hang awkwardly in the air as neither of them says anything in reply but the nurse seems to take it as an agreement and leaves, with the assurance to ‘just ask!” if they need anything. In their wake, Louis and Malik study each other from across the room, the other man's expression completely unreadable, until he seems to decide he’s just too cool for Louis and swaggers across the room to struggle with opening the window. He walks careful and casual at once, both like he knows that all eyes are on him and doesn’t care at all. Louis turns to watch with interest as he manages to force it open - despite the floor to ceiling windows, the only ones that open are small, face leveled slots within the larger window, impossible to climb (and jump) out of - and immediately starts to smoke, head out of the window and elbows leaning casually against  it, like the shake of his hand isn’t clearly visible.

Louis’ pillows smell of lemon wash when he turns away and buries his head back into them. 

He gets ten minutes of quiet while Malik smokes until someone knocks on the door again. This time, when he looks up blearily blinking at the light, Malik is striding over to open it and reveal a small crew of men dragging suitcases and carrying boxes. He orders them to put it all off the floor on his side of the room, while watching with crossed arms and a small frown, visibly wincing and making a small instinctive move when it looks like one of them is about to drop a box. He closes the door after them with a soft click and Louis thinks that that’s that until, less than a minute later, he’s opening it again to two men carrying a - 

“What?!” Louis croaks and they all turn to look at him, looking surprised he’s alive. “No, no, no, no, no - you’re not, you’re not going to be  _ playing  _ that, are you?” he moans. They all look at the full sized piano currently being carried into his room,  _ his safe space _ . Malik looks like he thinks Louis’ an idiot.

“It’s not an ornament, Tomlinson.” Fuck him, honestly. Fuck all beautiful people in Louis’ life who keep ruining things like Payne sending him here and now Malik dragging in full sized pianos into their shared room. Never trust beautiful people. “I can play it properly,” the offender assures him with a small smile and the men continue their way across the room. Louis groans.

“No.”

“What exactly is the problem, Tomlinson?” Louis doesn’t know ( there had been a piano in the room when - no. No. No reason at all. Whatever. ) ( _ He  _ had liked playing the piano. Whatever.) (whatever, whatever, whatever.)

“You could have asked.” Great. Now it sounds like he’s two years old. “I don’t want to hear that bloody thing playing all the time.” ( He just doesn’t like the piano. Not… not anymore.) 

“You won’t.” Maliks voice is quiet and he won’t meet his eyes , fixed instead on his anxiously wringing hands.  Louis gives up.

His stomach turns over at himself and attempts to crawl away from his body and he curls back in bed, suddenly exhausted again, hugging it close in a stupid attempt to make himself feel better. He presses his hands flat against his sides like he’s trying to drag out anything bad.

Malik unpacks quietly and carefully. Those seem like two perfect words for the model - quiet and careful, never a word said and each movement elegant and thought out. It’s a pity he smokes so much, muses Louis, as the other man takes his third or forth cigarette break since arriving, he’ll look old and grey and ugly early. Then again, maybe that’s a good thing for Louis. Less competition.

The floor is slowly covered with Malik's belongings - a shockingly little amount of which are clothes, especially for a supermodel. Louis’ not sure why anyone would  _ ever _ need  _ that many _ markers and pencils and paper and paints and notebooks and pens. Malik finishes his smoke with a soft sigh and goes back to carefully (of course) sorting through his extensive collection of superhero comics, cross legged on the floor with a soft pout as he orders them by colour.

The sun is setting, making their room glow with soft gold and oranges and throwing everything into sharp shadows and fading colour when the model offers to put on some music. Louis just shrugs and hugs his pillow a little tighter, which he must take as a yes because a minute later it floats through the air. In fairness to him, Malik, not only has a good music taste, but can also apparently match it to the mood near perfectly because it’s soft and lazy and Louis finds himself half drifting off to the gentle beat and the sounds of his new roommate shuffling and sorting on the floor.

Because the world hates him, the comfort can’t last and he’s not ready (doesn’t think he will ever be ready to get out of bed ever again) when their bubble of peace is disturbed by a nurse, arriving to announce dinner.

“You’re just going to be shown around and explained the routine this evening for you first day,” she explains, “So you’ll have more flexibility around dinner times going forward, although it is always at this time and it’s mandatory.” At this she shoots Malik a look he doesn’t return. Doesn’t sound very flexible, thinks Louis. 

It takes a fair deal of coxing from her part to get him out of bed and away from the safety of his blankets while Malik looks on with a face of rising dread. Louis pulls on his biggest hoodie and shuffles after them, hood up and hands hidden deep in the soft fabric, worn and tearing at the ends. 

He doesn’t pay attention to a word of what she says or to any of the dinner, accepting what he’s given and following Malik to a table without fully being aware of it.  _ He’s tired. _ Why does everything have to be tiring? Is it not enough that he has to do it all at all, even without being tired? The  little voice that’s not really so little anymore, in charge of all of the tension in his sore muscles and stomach won’t stop telling him that he’s just being dramatic again.  _ Dramatic, too dramatic, little Louis so desperate for attention.  _ He’s not quite sure who’s attention he’s supposed to be desperate for anymore. 

He thinks he might eat. 

The next thing he’s fully aware of doing is crawling back into bed, still dressed. He’s not sure where Malik is anymore, he went somewhere after dinner maybe? He asks if Louis is ok when he gets back. Louis doesn’t answer.

Hours later, it’s hours later, and he can’t sleep. The covers and pillows and cushions feel suffocating now, have gradually been for the past hour, but he doesn’t feel brave enough to untangle himself. It’s dark, sharp looming shadows and Maliks soft breaths filling the room like heavy water in his lungs. He can’t stop staring at the ceiling feeling weird and unsure and anxious and unsure why he’s feeling weird and unsure and anxious. He feels a bit like crying actually. Which is ridiculous. There is absolutely no reason for him to cry. He just, he feels like shit and he doesn’t know why and he really just wishes there was a reason.

Maybe he should call his mum. Maybe Liam’s right and he should just spill his guts, tell her he’s here. Cry. But if he does,  he’ll spill too much  and he won’t be able to take it back, he can feel it like a crack in his chest he’s struggling to hold closed. Maybe he should just call her anyway. Once upon a time, Louis would already have called his mum. He’s not really sure why he hasn’t just called his mum.

In a very sudden, spur of the moment, panic fueled decision, he throws his covers off and somehow finds himself sprawled out on the floor, having rolled off his bed with a muffled bang and groan. He contemplates just staying there, feeling surprisingly a small bit better, despite his moaning back and elbow, freed from his bed. The floor, he decides, is just a magical place. The floor deserves to be put on his good things list. 

He’s not sure how long he just  _ lies there, _ where he had fallen, limbs still in the same awkward askew positions, but it’s probably worryingly long, until his stomach starts to turn again and his hands start to shake. This is usually when he’d be well on his way through a bottle or maybe something stronger, but there’s no hope of that here. Instead he scrambles to his feet and starts pacing the room. He  used to do this a lot when he was younger, pacing up and down their too small kitchen, full of too many buzzing thoughts that needed an outlet that came in the form of jittery energy. It’s what made his mum send him off to footie training and long sessions of running after a ball through the English muck and rain until he was too tired to think.

He might miss that a bit, miss everything about those days. 

This pacing, however, is a good deal more stressed than that, though it does a surprising job at calming him down - all in all a habit he might pick back up since his mum isn’t here to tell him to  _ just stop moving, I swear to god, Louis. _

Malik groans something unintelligible into his pillow that Louis ignores. He just needs to breathe, needs to remember how to breath and then how to keep doing it. His feet are going very fast, he realizes absentmindedly, a speed walk really, wearing tracks into the carpet. 

In and out, in and out. Breath one and two, fist clenched tight. One, two, one, two. Breath. 

In the dark, he almost walks straight into the piano. He’s about to walk on again but pauses. Glances at Maliks sleeping figure. But it’s really his fault the goddamn thing is here at all and if Louis doesn’t do  _ something _ , he’s gonna scream and that would be a lot more awakening then the piano so…

Fuck it.

Might as well learn the piano.

Malik moans and raises his head at the first tentive notes Louis makes on the keys.

“Want help?” His voice is low and raspy and still mostly asleep but he seems shockingly unbothered and chill with Louis trying to learn the piano in the early hours of the morning. Still, Louis scowls and tells him to fuck off because he’s a terrible person and an even worse one when he’s upset and tired and it’s late. Malik just shrugs and goes back to sleep. Unbothered.

…

The piano is  _ hard _ .

But it’s also  calming and very hard to think about anything else while playing. His wrists and fingers ache and his neck and shoulders are screaming from being hunched over for so long but he can play twinkle twinkle little star and it feels like more of a victory than winning the league and tens of thousands of people screaming his name  (so fuck  _ him _ and his piano, Louis can play it too now,  _ he _ ’s not so special).  So it no longer matters that he can’t sleep because even if his eyes are crying and itchy and his fingers are numb, he can play the piano.

  
  


Nothing could convince Louis that there is a worse kind of hell than group therapy. It’s not even that big of a group, only six of them - young, pretty and rich - and a councilor in a circle of chairs. Louis can’t decide if that’s better or worse. He’s pretty sure it’s definitely worse - there’s just the right amount of people that it could be considered intimate, no escape, while still being  _ too many people _ .

He stares at his feet and squeezes his fingers.

Person one introduces themselves while he stares at the floor, both uncomfortable and bored.  This feels a little too close to school and Louis had never done well in school.  Too distracted and full of energy. Add a healthy doze of mischief and he was a nightmare. He kicks the chair of the person beside him and they frown and shuffle away. It’s a near thing not to stick his tongue out at them. The councilor shoots him an irritated look as he twists and squirms, trying to get comfortable. Louis sighs.

Person two starts talking. She looks vaguely familiar. A singer or actress maybe? His eyes wander to the window and the rare English sun shining beyond.  A waste of a day. His stomach and shoulders clench unhappily at the though and anxiousness rises in his throat. He should be practicing footie or fitness or - he feels very tired all of a sudden, watching a lazy, drifting cloud.

The councilor has to repeat his name a good few times for him to hear. He turns his head, fingers twisting and pulling in his lap. They sigh but force a smile.

“Ready to introduce yourself Louis?” It’s clear they’ve already asked. He stares blankly.  His leg hurts. It’s because he won’t stop tapping his foot, he realize s, and forces it to calm. Breath. He shrugs.

“Come on,” coxes the councilor, “Just like Anna and Jack.” 

He’d rather not. He was also also not paying the slightest bit of attention so could not for the life of him just copy the other two. He feels very very tired.

“I’m just gonna leave.” It comes out surprisingly clear. He stands up. They all look shocked, eyebrows shooting way up and jaws dropping. Fuck them all. He’s an adult, isn’t he? No one stops him, so he leaves.

He’s trying to find his room to go back to bed through aimless wandering,  completely unaware of where the fuck he is and how to get back, and he’s somehow found himself outside, when he sees a familiar figure. 

“Malik.” The model looks cool as always, leaning casually against the wall and blowing smoke up to the sky. Completely undisturbed, he nods at Louis.

“Tomlinson.” 

“Skipping?” God, this really does feel like being back in school. He gets an unimpressed Look, something he’s already noticed, despite their limited interactions, is a specialty of Maliks. 

“It’s just a load of rubbish anyway.” 

Louis hums in agreement and settles himself beside the other man. He’s always preferred company to being alone, even quiet closed off company. He closes his eyes and lets himself relax a bit.

“Is this where you were yesterday as well?” Only been here two days and the model ditched as soon as they stopped being chaperoned everywhere and were given a schedule instead. He opens his eyes and glances over in time for the other man to nod.

“I found it after breakfast. No one checks here.” He twirls his cigarette thoughtfully. “I just think it’s all pointless, I mean,  this isn’t the real world, you know?” Louis nods, watching his hands twirl and twirl and twirl. Malik seems more tense, jittery maybe, than usual. “And anyways, what do all these strangers know about us?” He takes a long drag from trembling fingers, looking cold despite the warm day. Louis just shrugs.

“They do talk a load of bullshit.” 

“Yeah,” agrees Malik with a startled laugh, visibly relaxing a little.

They stand some more in silence.  Louis isn’t used to the quiet - hates it usually  \- but he finds he doesn’t mind this too much, doesn’t mind the calm, or the silent, easy company. It feels almost like ok. Malik finishes his cigarette and pulls out another. This time he glances over at Louis, hesitates, then holds it out in offering.

What the hell. It’s not like he has a career now anymore anyway.

The model sniggers when it makes him cough.

Louis finds out what Maliks here for that very evening when he finds the model, usually so calm and composed,  sobbing on their bathroom floor after dinner- and his strictly mandatory hour of therapy after every meal - where he’d been told that his daily calories were upped. A t loss at what else to do, Louis sits down beside him and stays in the horrific quiet of his strangled sobs until someone comes to find them. 

It’s not all bad. Life here. The routine falls into place easier than he’d expected. His days are a blend of laps in the pool, skipping almost everything with Zayn and badly playing the piano while refusing any help offered to even show him the notes. Thankfully, Zayn is a deep, easy sleeper who doesn’t care in the slightest about the amount of noise Louis makes, playing the piano and stumbling around the place in the middle of the night.

They do go to some occasional classes and workshops, like the finger painting one Zayn drags him to, during which he spends most of his time flicking paint at the model while he creates the world's next masterpiece. He gets given out to for skipping group counseling but mostly they’re left alone, the fact that he doesn’t work well in closed environments well established. He takes his meds and does laps of the pool instead,  relying on Zayn to bully him out of bed in the morning (a favor he returns by making sure to always always eat with the model) (neither of them mention it) and to always be a presence by his side, on his side.  He won’t admit it out loud but he has no idea what he’d do without him, what either of them would do without each other. Zayn unravels slowly into always being down for a joke or a prank on a ‘Louis good day’ and content not to talk at all, just smoke and draw beside him on a ‘Louis bad day’. 

Zayn, Louis realizes, belongs on his good things list already somehow. 

It quickly becomes generally accepted around that they come as a pair. 

Liam visits on Louis’ first ‘visiting day’ two weeks after he first arrived, looking awkward and anxious and visibly relaxing when he spots Louis before immediately stiffening at the sight of Zayn beside him. He fusses over the mess in their room (mostly Zayn's art supplies everywhere, Louis refuses to take responsibility for that) and then over Louis’ skipped group therapy sessions and then over the different meds he was being given until Zayn finally tells him to relax, wide eyed but amused, and offers him a smoke making him go pink and mumble to his shoes. 

His shyness around the model, unfortunately, doesn’t not last and Louis drowns out their squabbling about he doesn’t even know what, lounging beside the pool - strangely empty- and eats the ice cream being given out for visiting day,  surprised by how much it relaxes him to see Liam. It had felt odd not to have him hovering anxiously but always prepared, always there, a constant reassurance. 

Zayn huffs and comes over to plonk himself down beside Louis with a scowl. “He’s stuck up and annoying.”

“Yup,” says Louis happily, already too used to the model to be fazed. The fact that he hasn’t left means that he really can’t find Liam all that bed. “Nerd,” he says to Liam, propping his feet up onto the other mans lap. He gets a small sigh and a smile and Liam reaches out to pinch his knee.

“Menace.” Louis hums his agreement with a smirk and bites his ice cream just to watch Liam visibly shudder. Spoil sport. He watches the other man hesitate, clearly gearing himself up for something as he continues to eat, chewing on his lip nervously, Liam only main but major giveaway.

“It’s not too bad, is it? This place?” he asks softly, like he’s scared of the answer. Louis shrugs.

“Could be worse.”

“Yeah, but is it helping?” Liam insists, leaning forward slightly to look at him with a frown, “Are you… do you think it’s helping?” Louis doesn’t really know how to answer. Is it helping? He’s not sure that’s how it works, as much as he knows Liam loves direct answers, easy fast solutions.

“It’s not the real world,” says Zayn at last, “Does it really matter if everything changes again once we leave?”

  
  


Malik is restless today, fiddling with his hair, then his hands, then Louis hair, resulting in a small fight of slapping hands as Louis tries to push him off. He comes out of his one on one councilling scowling, a rare heavy threat of anger hanging around him as he stalks past Louis, grabbing onto his arm and dragging him stumbling down the hall, nails digging in deep.

“We’re leaving Tomlinson.”

“What.”

“I need to get out of here… now.” 

Sneaking out of a mental hospital (mental restoration bla bla bla) (loony bin for the loaded as called fondly (ish) by Zayn), Louis reflects, should not be this easy. He smirks down at Zayn from his place on the wall.

“Alright there, Malik?” The model scowls.

“Not everyone exercises for a living Tomlinson.” It’s possibly the first ungraceful thing in the two months Louis known him that he ever sees him do, scrambling almost pathetically up the tall stone wall surrounding the grounds. They had found a small spot mostly hidden by a tree to make their escape but, honestly, if anyone was to walk past they would definitely be caught. Instead of even pretending to keep a lookout, Louis laughs until his stomach hurts as Zayn painfully hauls himself up beside him, flopping onto his stomach and wriggling for the end, causing Louis to almost fall off he laughs so much. It feels good. He can’t remember the last time he just  _ laughed _ , just because. Louis is still giggling when Zayn pushes him, looking flushed and disgruntled. 

“I didn’t know you could look not-cool but  _ man _ , mate that was  _ gold _ .” 

“Whatever Tomlinson.” 

Once off the wall they look at each other, the realisation of freedom and  _ trouble _ dawning. He really does feel like being back in school, thinks Louis, the same delight mixed with knowledge that you’re doing something Not Allowed as when he and his mates used to skip for the day. They exchange glances and Louis starts to run for no other reason than he feels like it and it seems appropriate and just dramatic enough for the situation, to his surprise, laughing delightedly, Zayn chases after him, giddy adrenaline pushing them both and making him feel eleven years old again.

It doesn’t take long for Zayn to stop and double over, completely out of breath and Louis stops beside him, slightly concerned. Zayn hasn’t had a choice but to eat properly since they arrived but he’s still too thin and, well, unfit, if better than even a month ago, but he doesn’t seem too bad, just out of breath so Louis waits for him to recover, panting only a little himself as he breathes in the fresh air. Air feels different when you're free, he decides, before admitting that maybe he’s being a tad bit dramatic. 

“So where are we going?” asks Zayn eventually, straightening up.

“Your idea,” Louis points out, waving an arm out dramatically to show the small grey road ahead. “Anything you’ve dreamed about doing this past month?” Zayn considers thoughtfully.

“I know.” Louis nods eagerly in encouragement. “A tattoo.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Haven’t got one in agesss,” Zayn rolls up his sleeve to show off his impressive arm of ink, “And I get an itch if I don’t do one every so often.” This really wasn’t how Louis had been imaging his afternoon would go when he woke up this morning. He thinks there was a meditation class scheduled for this afternoon.

“Alright then, off we go! … if we meander well find a place?” 

Zayn shrugs.

The center is on the edge of a small town hidden away just beside London, but not so small that they don’t have a longish and confusing walk to find the town center. Once there though, they find a tattoo shop pretty easily simply by wandering around and asking.

“You know what you want to get?” Louis asks curiously, glancing up and down the road before crossing, dragging Zayn by his jacket behind him. Zayn hums unbothered by the small car that swings out of nowhere and almost hits them. 

“I’ve got an idea. I’ll talk it over with the artist.” Louis nods and lets him walk inside first before following a little more cautiously. He's never been into a tattoo parlor, despite having thought about it a few times over the years, so while Zayn and the artist, a tiny woman with gentle blue hair, discuss his tattoo, he wanders around taking in the designs displayed with open curiosity. 

The shop is small but somehow comforting. It’s the kind of place that makes him understand why Zayn takes refuge in art. He continues to browse and wander while Zayn takes his seat, letting their chatter and the soft music wash over him. This is good. He feels ok. He feels better than he has in months. He’s staring down at a drawing when Zayn comes up behind him, causing him to jump.

“You gonna get anything?” 

Louis pauses. He hadn’t been going to. But… Zayn is sort of the best person to do this sort of thing with, he doesn’t care either way, voice casual like getting your first tattoo is something everyday and normal, so there’s no pressure at all. 

“Seems a bit stupid to get one without a meaning.”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

He looks down at the drawing.

“I don’t have any money or anything to pay with with me anyway.”

“You can pay me back.”

Deep breath. He looks down at the design again.

“I’m gonna get this then.”

Zayn grins.

They stumble out of the small shop less than an hour later, tilting their heads back to the setting sun. 

“Go on a walk?” suggests Zayn.

“A walk,” agrees Louis.

It starts off innocently enough, randomly choosing roads by doing a game of einy miney mo but they’re both still giddy from their escape and new tattoos, especially Louis who feels like he’s  _ flying _ , so somehow they end up crossing fields and sneaking across peoples back yards. They’re playing a game of I Spy when Louis realizes that it’s dark.

“Uh… do you know where we are?” Zayn slowly shakes his head. “Fuck.” Zayn nods. “We can… retrace our steps?” The look he gets says it all. “I don’t see you coming up with solutions!”

“Find a street sign maybe?” They had wandered back towards more of a town area once more.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s, yeah ok.” Finding a street sign proves to be harder than he would have  _ thought  _ but it’s also getting … er, very dark.

“Found one!” calls Zayn, “John-James Street.” He waves a hand at it.

“Great,” says Louis. They both stare at the sign. “Uh, what now?”

“You have your phone?” They both pat down their pockets till Louis finds the phone Liam gave him in case of an emergency. Liam is the only number in the contacts and Louis is wincing as he calls.

“Louis?”

“Yeah, uh hey, yeah, it’s, it's me.”

“Are you alright? Did something happen? Should I call a lawyer?”

“Wha -? A lawyer?! No. No, yeah I’m uh fine, no see the thing is…” He glaces awkwardly at Zayn who just smirks back, hands in pockets, looking highly amused.  _ “What do I say?”  _ he hisses.

“Tommo? What’s happening?”

Zayn shrugs, clearly suppressing a laugh.

“So Liam, you know the way you love me, right? I mean, at this point we’re basically brothers -“

“What did you do.” Liam does not sound impressed.

“Well-“

“Tommo.”

“Me and Zayn might have run away. Maybe.”

“You  _ what _ ?” 

“Yeah so we might also be a little bit lost and need you to pick us up.”

“I swear to god.”

“Li-“

“I’m going to murder you one day Tommo, if you aren’t the death of me beforehand. Where are you?”

They’re both shivering by the time Liam finds them, sitting on a low stone wall beside the street sign and huddled together with Zayn in both his and Louis jumpers and Louis in only a t shirt. It is also very very dark. Liam gets out of his car to sigh at the sorry state of the two of them before hustling them both inside and rather angrily making sure they’re both warm and giving out water bottles that of course he keeps handy in his car while giving out to them about the importance of staying hydrated and fussing to make sure they both have their seat belts on before he finally starts driving. Zayn looks a little overwhelmed.

It’s strange, Louis reflects, to see them both together, two very different worlds, different parts of him, clashing in Liam’s jeep. Bundled in one of Liam’s spare blankets (Louis has no idea what Liam is expecting is going to happen to him for him to need all these supplies around at all times, a zombie apocalypse?) a wide eyed Zayn doesn’t say anything while Liam rants about  _ not even having a high vise or headlamp on them! Were they looking to be run over?  _ Louis makes a funny face at him, that Liam, eyes on the road, can’t see, and the model returns a small smile and relaxes into his seat. 

Fidgeting, Louis looks out his window just in time to see them drive straight past the center, lit up in the night.

“Uhhh, Liam?” 

“I’m taking you both back to my place,” says Liam without taking his eyes away from the road, “I’ve already called the hospital to tell them.” He frowns and adds, “ I can’t believe that you could both just run off like that, can’t believe you did Tommo, I mean, come on. Really?” He sighs. Liam sighs a lot around him, Louis thinks. “Anyway, it’s late and… I don’t know, I didn’t feel like leaving you back there.”

“Miss me?” Louis teases delightedly but he’s immensely glad for Liam Payne and relieved they don’t have to go back yet. A quick glance at Zayns face shows that he wholeheartedly agrees.

“Don’t miss your nonsense. But, uh,” he clears his throat awkwardly and glances back at the two of them in the backseats like small children, “The uh, the new season of that show we were watching came out. Looks good. Thought we could get pizza?”

“Yes!” cheers Louis, “Yes, Liam, yes!” Liam meets his eyes in the rearview mirror with a small, relieved looking smile and Louis grins back at him, feeling oddly touched and also ridiculously pleased that Liam hadn’t started it without him. 

He takes it upon himself to give the rundown of the plot of the last few seasons to Zayn while Liam leaves them in the car to go get the pizzas. It’s a messy, crappy sort of series he and Liam had first started watching back when Liam had just started working for him and they were both by now very emotionally invested into every ridiculous thing that kept happening. It was a sort of teenage superhero thing and Zayn perks up eagerly at the mention of superheros. Nerd.

Liam finally gets back, carefully placing the pizzas onto the seat beside him and Louis begs for a slice he’s refused as the smell fills the car. However, Liam does speed up significantly to get back to his place.

Louis had never been to Liam’s before. Any time they had spent together outside of work was usually at Louis place or out in town and Liam was always pretty private so Louis had just assumed he preferred it that way. It’s a nice place. Big, the top floor of a modern, fancy apartment building near the center of London, and carefully cleaned and tidied. Plants line the windows. He almost feels bad, like he’s somehow messing it all up, when he throws himself onto the dark green sofa in front of the tv,  Zayn settling in beside him, more reserved and gentle, curling up as beside Louis with his chin on his knees as if to make himself smaller. Liam sits on the fluffy carpet at their feet and puts on the show.

Louis can’t remember the last time he had such a good, chill time just hanging out with his mates. At first, Zayn remains quiet and held back but he begins to relax as the evening stretches and Louis offers comments on any and everything happening on screen, Liam agreeing or disagreeing eagerly, and soon he and Liam are in a proper superhero something debate Louis isn’t bothered enough to try keep up with. focusing instead on inhaling his pizza and stealing slices off Liam. Even Zayn eats two full slices, moaning a little as he bites into his first one.

“I haven’t had pizza in so long, I used to  _ love  _ pizza,” he sighs, blushing when the other two turn to him.

“Take advantage of the free food,” Louis tells him, “He doesn’t ever pay when it’s just the two of us let me tell you.” 

“It’s cause I’m prettier.” 

“Probably.” It’s difficult to even joke about being prettier than Malik so Louis doesn’t usually even try. Liam just rolls his eyes.

Louis doesn’t know how long they've been watching this show but he’s pretty sure his brain has melted. A puddle on the floor. They haven’t had a drop of alcohol but even Liam is acting giddy and drunk like, a fierce and confusing competition having arisen between him and Zayn on supporting their respective favorite characters, cheering eagerly each one on separately. Louis refuses to take sides.

The episode ends and the timer starts for the next one to start. At this point Louis can’t even be sure if he’s still watching or hallucinating the series. Liam checks the time and winces.

“Uh,maybe we should… sleep? Stop now?” he says regretfully eyeing the count down still ticking away. Louis half groans, half mumbles something even he isn’t sure the meaning behind as an answer and gets two unimpressed looks. The pillow won’t judge him like his awful friends so he buries his face into it instead, hugging it close. It smells like Liam if he was a grandmother.

“We could just sleep all day tomorrow and keep going?” suggests Zayn hopefully, “I miss watching things.”

“What do you mean? We watched a mindfulness video last week, remember?” sniggers Louis and gets a pillow in the back of the head. Liam watches them closely, chewing his lips.

“Listen Tommo,” Liam hesitates and Louis sits up straighter at the sudden seriousness, “I - I did actually miss you.” Awwwwwwwww. “And, uh, and if you're miserable you know, if you're unhappy or whatever there, tell me. You know you can tell me, yeah?” And, oh. Liam is watching him with wide genuine  _ worried  _ eyes and, god, that man really has his moments huh. It’s a little bit heartbreaking. Something in Louis' stomach turns over uncomfortably. He has no idea how to respond. Does he have to respond? Should he make a joke? He can’t think of a single thing to say. 

“I uh,” he’s pulling the pillow in closer to him he realizes, hands tightening painfully, “Yeah, um yeah, uh thanks.” He’s not sure why Liam looks so sad. He should say something more. Is he unhappy? He doesn’t think so. He’s got Zayn. And it’s not like they don’t occasionally say something that makes sense at the hospital, sort of.

“It’s just,” Liam looks like he’s not sure if he should go on, “Look, you - you both  _ ran away  _ today and like I’d, i'd rather if you didn’t feel like you had to do that you know? Like even if it was just for the day. It’s not… I mean it doesn’t really, they, I - you shouldn’t be running away and - and breaking out, god! If that's what you're doing, and not going to your group therapy, I mean you might as well not be there, right? If you're not happy, we can work something else out, you can, you can come stay here if you want and I can always get you someone, like a therapist, to help you out, out here, you know? So if you think that that would help more, if it would be better for you, I mean, just… just say so. Not everything works for everyone Tommo, and I, I don’t want you locked up somewhere you don’t want to be.” 

Silence. Louis stares and tries very hard not to cry. He hasn’t cried in so so long so there’s really no reason to cry now and he doesn’t know why he would ever even want to cry now, it’s just Liam for gods sakes, just Liam saying he doesn’t have to go to a fucking mental hospital against his will, nothing emotional about that -

Louis bursts into tears.

Shit. He forgot how much it  _ hurts  _ to cry, how it feels like your being torn apart while every cell in your body clings desperately onto each other. He gasps around his shuddering lungs and closing throat but they just won’t start working again properly and his cheeks are stinging and wet. He’s rocking back and forth and his brain doesn’t even know why he’s crying but it’s happening and he’s falling apart. 

Zayn reaches him first, bony arms wrapping themselves tightly around Louis’ shaking shoulders like he can keep them together if he just holds on tight enough and then Liam, Liam who hates being touched, tugging them both into his arm and clinging on just as tightly. It’s warm and safe inside the protective huddle of limbs and, face buried in Liam’s shoulder, hands clinging to Zayns, Louis slowly slowly slowly takes deep choked breathes and squeezes his eyes shut until they stop bleeding water and hurt and he can think beyond how much his body is trying to let out. 

It takes a long time for his shaking to stop. Neither Liam nor Zayn let go. They fall asleep in a pile of limbs and pillows and tears on the couch with Netflix still playing in the background.

Louis is woken up at seven am by Liam’s alarm and 5en by Liam untangling himself from the entangled mess the three of them had become over the night and falling off the couch. Zayn groans loudly and burrows his face into Louis' hip. Louis pats his hair absentmindedly. He agrees with the sentiment. Fuck whoever made up that  _ lie _ about crying making you feel better. He feels disgusting and gross and exhausted and drained and everything hurts from how awkwardly they had all slept. He blinks blearily up at Liam, stretching with a wince clearly just as stiff as Louis, standing above him.

“Morning,” says Liam quietly, “I’m just gonna take a shower I think.” Fair enough.

“No,” moans Zayn, “Sleep, come back to bed. Five more minutes.” Liam goes bright red while Louis sniggers, highly entertained and suddenly far more awake.

“Sexy Malik.” He gets an elbow right in the stomach. “Oof, agh, ok not sexy then.” Another elbow. “Ow!”

“I am sexy. Now, sleep, hush.” 

“Right,” interrupts Liam, blush slowly fading, “Well you two can sleep a little more I guess, but uh I’ll go get breakfast once I’ve showered and -“

“What?” Zayn raises his head from Louis' stomach, blinking sleep away, hair an absolute mess, with  panicked eyes, “But it’s not eight yet. We don’t have breakfast until eight.” His voice rises at the end , even still groggy and horse with sleep. Liam frowns and glances at Louis who nods slowly, Liam nods back.

“Alright,” he agrees softly, “That's fine, we can have breakfast at eight, I just meant that I have to go get some at the local bakery. I don’t think I have anything in the kitchen.” Louis can feel Zayn relax as he slumps back down on top of him. His responding ok is muffled by the pillow. 

Liam hesitates, clearly worried, for only a second before shuffling off and soon the hum of the shower fills the apartment. 

By the time he gets back Zayn, the lucky git, is already once more fast asleep and Louis is still wide awake but too comfortable to move. Liam smiles a bit at the two of them and snaps a picture before Louis can protest. It is, in fairness, a cute photo, even if they both look like shit.

“I won’t be long,” promises Liam, “It's just down the street. I’m just gonna get some bread, maybe croissants? Does Zayn like anything in particular?”

“Actually,” Louis sighs, he’s so comfortable and warm but… “Can I go?” He needs to get out. Refind his bearings, get away from the concern hovering in Liam’s eyes and take a minute to breath by himself. Also, every single one of his limbs is screaming to take a stretch. “I just need to get out a bit.”

“Really?” Liam worries his lip, he should really stop doing that, “Yeah ok, ok yeah fine, uh, I’ll just get you some money. It’s just down the street, a really small bakery, the owners' lovely and small business, you know? So good to support. Get what you like, and uh get me a ...oh a bit of brown bread, they have this really good loaf -“

Louis drowns out his rambling as he carefully untangles himself from Zayn and hops off the couch, almost losing his balance when the other man tries to stop him from leaving, still asleep. He goes to the bathroom and borrows one of Liam’s hats to pull over his face before leaving Liam to his fussing and worrying.

It’s a cool, brisk kind of day that feels on the brink of rain and no one gives him a second glance as he strolls down the quiet street. It’s a good, refreshing feeling, even as he wishes he had also thought to take a shower before heading out. Liam’s right, the bakery is just on the corner of the street and it’s one of those places that makes you want to stop, pretty breads and cakes lining the window and a homely, welcoming feeling about it. A small bell jingles when he pushes open the door and mouth watering smells invite him in. It’s even smaller on the inside then it seems on the outside, crammed full of baked goods and postcards on the wall. He’s the only customer and a kindly looking middle aged lady smiles at him from behind the counter.

Louis walks around the shop twice to take in all his options. He gets Liam’s brown bread (of course that child would get the most healthy and boring option possible), these little bread rolls in the shape of snails, a small selection of croissants and the sweetest pastry available for Zayn. The lady laughs warmly at his array.

“Feeding an army, are we?”

“Having a feast, more like,” Louis tells her and she laughs some more. It feels good, feels normal and doable, easy, counting out the money and chatting about the weather, packing away his goods into his bag and waving a thank you and goodbye. He feels good, normal. He’s ok. 

“I bring food!” he announces loudly when he gets back and they fall into a comfortable bustle of a quiet breakfast, Louis cheering when he finds Liam had Yorkshire tea and Zayn picking away slowly at his pastry under Liam’s watchful eyes. Both Louis and Zayn take a shower before all too soon they’re climbing back into Liam’s car. No one talks during the ride and they don’t say anything when they get back either to the nurses disapprovingly tight mouths and tense glances, but it isn’t uncomfortable. 

Just quiet.

Louis isn’t really surprised when Liam comes back two days later, walking straight into their room and telling him to pack. But he does glance over at Zayn to find him watching with an unhappy frown and tense shoulders, back too straight and fingers tapping in a way that always means he wants to smoke.

“You too,” says Liam, catching the glance and waving at Zayn, “Come on, pack up, you’re both coming with me, can’t leave the two of you demons here with this terrible security.” Louis watches as Zayn's eyes go very wide before his face transforms into a delighted smile and he leaps up to throw his arms around Liam in a hug. Liam blinks uncomfortably, arms hanging stiffly in shock, but Zayn clearly doesn’t care, spinning to face Louis, who's busy laughing at Liam’s face, and throwing his hands triumphantly in the air.

“Freedom Tomlinson!”

“ Yeah, yeah, freedom, ‘snot like we were locked away in prison or something you absolute madman, you’d think we were being held hostage, wasn’t  _ that _ bad, god.” But Zayns still grinning like an idiot.

“Never sharing a room with you again mate,” he says blissfully.

“Hey!”

“You really got us both out early, even me?” he confirms turning back to Liam who nods.

“Yes, but I do have to keep an eye on both of you in return so-“ 

This time it’s Louis who cheers. “We're gonna be flatmates?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, you’re both welcome to move in with me but-“

“Really?” exclaims Zayn and he sighs.

“Yes, really. I told them you would be living with me but obviously if-“

Louis doesn’t let him finish. “I’m taking the bigger bedroom!”

“Git.”

“Idiot.”

“You-“

“Just get packed. Both of you. Please. Before I change my mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh yeah Harry, right so the thing is I want Louis to ... like get time to grow and find his footing a before I guess? So there’s still a little little bit before Harry turns but but don’t worry he gets a lot of mentions in the next chapter.   
> I hope your enjoying it so far, especially the friendships Louis is making, I think they’re really important and they’re going to keep being really important as this goes on.  
> I am going to try to be a little faster updating but I can’t promise anything. I thought I was gonna get this chapter done fast enough since I had a week of holidays but of course just that week my brain decided to have a bit of a crash and I had a though few weeks but I love writing this and it does help a little I think, just letting Louis vent my thoughts for me.  
> I love all and any feedback of course and thank you so so much to anyone who commented on the last chapter I love you so much and those comments made my day, even if I don’t always have the brain space to respond :)   
> Have a lovely day and tell me your thoughts I love to hear them! DONT GO TO BED TOO LATE

**Author's Note:**

> Well, chapter one done then I guess :) - please comment, I’m honestly too tired to be offended so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and I live for validation so you know... compliments:) ... also the likelihood I finish this goes up anytime anyone says anything so a win win situation really  
> I HOPE YOU HAVE AN AMAZING DAY PLEASE DONT GO TO BED TOO LATE UR DOING GREAT AND I LOVE YOU GOODNIGHT


End file.
